Speak Mellon and Enter
by LuxaLovesLawnmowers
Summary: Elrond has had many friends over the ages, but none so foreign to him as this hobbit, Bilbo Baggins. From the moment they met, their friendship was a strange one.
1. A Pocket Handkerchief

Disclaimer- I don't own Lord of the Rings.

I haven't done a LotR fanfic in Ages and Ages (geddit, I'm punny *gets shot*) but my rekindled love for Elrond has inspired this, very probably terrible, fanfiction. No pairings yet, alothugh there will probably be Elrond/Celebrian, I haven't decided. This is mostly Bilbo and Elrond friendship, although Elrond and Aragorn father/sonness will worn its way in. And Glorfindel, because he's cool.

Enjoy! :)

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Bilbo Baggins was fifty-seven years old before he missed the Elves.

It had been about five years since he had last seen an elf, five years since he had seen a dwarf or a wizard or even a dragon. Five years since he had listened to the song of an elf-maiden in fair Rivendell. And that, Bilbo decided, had to end.

Without warning, with little preparation except to make sure the Sackville-Bagginses were never allowed near Bag-End whether or not he returned home, Bilbo packed his bag, which included provisions (plenty of them), a pipe and a fair amount of the Longbottom Leaf, an extra hood, and _several_ extra handkerchiefs. He folded Sting under his breeches and was tempted to wear the mithril, but decided it gave him an unfair advantage. He left it home, but not on display. You could never be sure which relative would prowl around the house.

Lastly, Bilbo tucked the ring into his pocket. He wouldn't dream of leaving Hobbiton without a safety net. He was, after all, a Baggins.

However, it was the Took side that led him from his comfortable hole, with all its seed-cakes and warm fires, to visit the Elves.

One last time couldn't hurt.

* * *

Elrond Half-elven, Lord of Imladris, did not often think of hobbits. If there was one subject he was not an expert in, it was Hobbit-lore. This did not mean he did not enjoy the company of one. The Halflings had a way about them, making you feel as though you knew everything about them and yet they could still surprise you. Elrond liked to be surprised (when it was good; Saruman's betrayal was no example of a good surprise), for he had lived many years and seldom left the shelter of Rivendell in these late days, for without him, Rivendell would no longer be The Last Homely House West of the Mountains, and that title was one of Elrond's favorites.

His head rose a fraction as he felt someone pass the barrier into his lands. He smiled slightly, taking his mind off a variety of things to focus on one of many subjects that had been whirling around in his brain.

He rose from his seat, his robes draping themselves over him as he walked. He opened the door, smacking it into someone on the other side.

Elrond stifled a laugh as he heard a melodic voice curse. Which unfortunate elf had he managed to hit today? He peered around the door, and his attempt to hide his laughter became ever more difficult.

"Good morning, Glorfindel," he said pleasantly. "I didn't know you were near my chambers."

Glorfindel rubbed at a spot on his forehead. "I would hope not. This act is cruel enough without malicious intent."

Elrond sighed. "Let us drop these regal pretenses. Even elves such as ourselves wish to walk among the flowers, do we not?"

"You speak in riddles so early in the morning. I was only complaining about the door, nothing more," smirked Glorfindel. "But nonetheless, it seems we have company. The elves are already composing songs to amuse themselves as Bilbo walks down into the valley."

Elrond started walking down the corridor, Glorfindel at his side. "Yes, it gladdens me that our people are so light-hearted. If all beings in Middle-Earth were as such, it would be a happier place."

"You are in a morose mood of late. If all beings in Middle-Earth were as elves, it would be far less interesting. You dwell too deep in your dreams, Elrond Half-elven. I bid you to wake." Glorfindel's voice was kindly, but spoke with the authority of a being who could talk on equal level with Elrond.

Elrond did not reply, but walked all the way to the entrance of the front hall and flung the doors open wide. He had scarcely the time to breath fresh air and smell the lilies before a small curly head rammed into his stomach.

"It is an auspicious day for you, Elrond," chuckled Glorfindel. "Already you have injured two with the opening of doors, and it is not yet noon."

The curly head sighed. "No, it is not, but I have had precious few lunches in the last few days."

"I can take a hint," said Elrond. "Come with me, and we shall set up a meal. Would you consider this a second breakfast or a first luncheon?"

"Neither," replied the head. "Us hobbits would call it our after-breakfast morsel. You elves really do know _so_ little."

Elrond bent down so he could be level with the hobbit's face. It was round, although not plump, not from weeks of journeying. His eyes were bright and his smile was sincere, and that was all Elrond needed to see to invite him in. Elrond could not say that he tired of his fellow elves, but that did not mean it wasn't nice to see a face so different. "What a surprise, Bilbo. It is good to see you."

Bilbo thrust something in Elrond's face, and Elrond registered mud and dirt before he realized what it was.

"Your handkerchief," said Bilbo breathlessly. "I borrowed it nigh on five years ago. I thought it was time I brought it back."

"I thank you," replied Elrond, slightly touched. "But you did not need to bring me my handkerchief to need a reason to visit me, dear Mr. Baggins. I welcome you into my halls at any time, Elf-friend."

It was Bilbo's turn to be touched. "That's very kind of you. But at the moment I would give nearly anything I own for a good meal."

Glorfindel couldn't help but add, "A hobbit does not forget the important things as we do. I think we should get this hobbit to his meal."

And so, the two elves flanked the hobbit as they walked, their steps light.

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Reviews are love! :)


	2. The Hall of Fire

Disclaimer- I don't own Lord of the Rings.

Sorry for the wait, but I just got kinda...lethargic. Worst excuse ever, I know.

Enjoy! :)

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The flame was warm on Elrond's face as he sat by the fire, but the breeze around him was cool. Autumn was approaching. Elrond could feel it in the air, the scent of the trees, the crunch of leaves beneath his feet. It was one of countless autumns that he had lived through, and he paid little heed to it, only to occasionally stop and wonder at the coming of winter, for it winter was his least favorite season.

He was not alone. The great hall was nearly empty, but fair Elven voices sang out loud and clear. Elrond wondered if they were perched in trees outside the window or were singing especially loudly that night.

The other occupant of the room snorted in his sleep, and Elrond relaxed. He was being entirely too pensive today. Perhaps he would become like an Ent that became tree-like, to the point he couldn't move or think clearly. His worries about the One Ring were seeping into his brain, slowing him down and freezing him up.

Elrond blinked. This was ridiculous. He needed to move around, make preparations and sing a verse with his carefree elves. He started to stand, but stopped when the other occupant opened his eyes blearily. His soft shoes making no sound as he slid back into his seat, he smiled.

"Good morning, Master Elrond," mumbled the person. "What are you doing in my bedroom?"

"Do not try and fool me," smirked Elrond. "You've been awake this whole time."

"I didn't think it right to disturb you," replied the hobbit, sitting up in his chair as he crossed his hairy legs. "I've never seen you so grave. You sat there with the weight of the world on your shoulders."

"I suppose not. I apologize for being gloomy of late. There is much on my mind."

"I've been wondering," said Bilbo. "Do you elvish folk...no, that's not it. Do you, Master Elrond, ever get sad?"

Elrond was surprised. "Sad? Didn't I say-"

Bilbo shook his head. "No, no, that's not what I meant. I know you elves feel _sorrow_, a lot of it, especially you, being the famous Half-elven and all, but I was wondering, do you ever get plain old sad? Not for the world, or your people, but for yourself?"

"I understand now. The answer would be yes, I do. You suffer your share of tragedy when you live a long time. I have underestimated you as a poet, dear Bilbo, if you have caught onto such things."

Bilbo's face may have been small, but his eyes were bright. "Want a smoke?"

Elrond was shaken out of his reverie. "What?"

Bilbo pulled out a long pipe and tobacco. "A smoke. This is the best of the Shire. Gandalf brings it for me when he can. He likes the stuff himself."

"Yes, I know what it is. I was just surprised you asked." Elrond reached for it, and Bilbo none-too-gently shoved it into his hands.

"Try it! It's the delicacy of our people. You'd be rude to refuse now."

Hesitantly, Elrond lit the pipe as he'd seen Gandalf do it, and inhaled deeply. He caught a whiff of something sweet before it reached his lungs, and he started coughing badly.

Bilbo exploded with laughter, his small body shaking with mirth. Elrond's coughing fit subsided, and he tried to remain dignified, raising an eyebrow. "Did you know that would happen?" he managed.

Bilbo tried not to give himself away, but hobbits never were very good at deception. "We play that trick on the children," he admitted. "When they try to smoke. It takes them years to work up the courage again, and by that time they're usually adults."

"How clever. I will admit, you got me. Did I breathe it in wrong?"

"No, no, it's no trick, really," explained Bilbo. "It just takes practice. You come to appreciate the pipe over time."

Elrond shook his head. "I think I'll pass from now on. What would the other Elves say?"

"Commend you for your wisdom, most likely," advised Bilbo. "For it's obvious to me that all the Elves wish dearly to smoke."

"We have different eyes, little master."

"You shall see, Master Elrond. One day legions of Men and Elves will smoke."

"I don't foresee it," said Elrond. "But perhaps."

Bilbo quieted down, smoke puffing from his pipe as he thought. "I'm surprised you talk so freely with someone like me."

"Like you, dear Mr. Baggins?" asked Elrond, leaning back into his chair and watching the fire crackle. "I don't understand."

"I didn't know when we first met, having only heard your name in far-off tales, but the elves here call you the greatest living Lore-Master, Lord of Imladris. I'm only a small hobbit, and not a very impressive one at that. My great-granduncle, Bullroarer, now he was-"

Elrond held up his hand to stop Bilbo. "Yes, I know all about Bullroarer. I think he has a page or two dedicated to him in the archives."

"A page or two? He knocked off a go-"

"You, Bilbo, have a _book_ or two, and it has only been fifty years since you went on your journey. Quick work for Elves," interrupted Elrond again. "Now do you want to know why I talk to all manner of beings, or shall I take my contemplations elsewhere?"

Bilbo finally managed shut his mouth. "Of course, Master Elrond. I didn't think you would take my musings seriously, that's all."

Elrond continued heedless of Bilbo. "My brother told me, long ago, that if I should ever become an Elf old and full of wisdom, not to let my thoughts become so heavy that I can't take a piss without having to think about it first."

Bilbo looked shocked, whether at the advice or Elrond's use of mild profanity he couldn't tell. "Your brother said that?"

"Yes. Elros was a great king and a good brother, but he never did care about courtly speech. It made things...quite interesting." chuckled Elrond.

"It astounds me how Elves can go both back and forward in their words," replied Bilbo. "You say you don't want to become so introverted you can't function, and yet you, like every other Elf, fail to explain what you say."

"Ah, Bilbo, I can't help that. It's in our nature."

Bilbo laughed. "I don't doubt it, Master Elrond."

As Elrond settled back into his chair, he realized that he didn't feel so gloomy after all.

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Reviews are love! :)


	3. Estel

Disclaimer- I don't own Lord of the Rings.

New chapter, cause I have it and reviews are great but I don't expect them.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Master Elrond?"

A child's voice. Elrond's mind was sent back thousands of years, to the brief but joyful time when his children were young, when he could talk freely to them as a father should. He wondered if Celebrían was happy without him, or if she waited and wondered about him as he did her.

"Master Elrond?"

That was the danger of being an elf, especially an old one. One word could set him off in a series of long contemplations. He finally looked down and smiled.

"Yes, child?"

The small face smiled nervously, framed by shaggy black hair. He was so short and small Elrond often wondered if he was part-hobbit or part-dwarf. He had not spent time around young humans, not in a long while.

The young boy dared to poke at Elrond's robes. "Do you know where Glorfindel is? He promised to take me show me the forest today." The boy was speaking in Elvish. He had picked it up so quickly that Elrond wondered if he could still speak in the Common Speech.

"Ah, Estel," replied Elrond. "I believe Glorfindel was summoned by Elladan and Elrohir. I don't think he'll be back today."

Aragorn's small face fell, but he did his best to hide it. "Oh. I'll go back and study then." Elrond felt a pang of guilt. They had unintentionally been raising Aragorn as one of their own, but Elrond's blood in the boy was heavily diluted through the generations, and he was no elf.

Elrond laid a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "I can take you out to the forest, if you wish."

Aragorn paused, hope and hesitation warring on his open face. "Glorfindel says you don't hunt."

Elrond nodded. "He is correct. I do not hunt, and I rarely go to war. Those who heal should not kill, for their ability to help others is hindered if they also harm in such a way."

Elrond was surprised to see that what he said did not go over Aragorn's head. "Then how are you going to take me out to the forest?"

Elrond smiled with the quiet joy that all elves shared when thinking of the forest. "There is more to the forest than killing animals, dear Estel. Come with me, and I will show you what Glorfindel meant to."

Elrond led Aragorn into the woods of Imladris, his step light, lighter than it had been since a bedraggled party of thirteen dwarves, a wizard, and a hobbit had arrived at his doorstep.

Aragorn trotted after him, head turning from side to side. He hopped easily over piles of leaves, treading as soft as Elrond.

"Can I ask you something?" asked Aragorn shyly. Elrond stopped walking and bent slightly, his hands on his knees.

"Ask me anything. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable, Aragorn, or push you away. Do not think that, ever," Elrond said. He added, "I worry that I am standoffish in your eyes."

"What's standoffish mean?"

Elrond's smile grew. "Exactly."

Aragorn pouted. "Elves speak in big words. I can hardly keep up."

"I am sorry, but I do not apologize. I do not think it would be possible for us to speak otherwise. Many of us have lived too long to remember how to speak simply."

"Can you speak simply? For me?" pleaded Aragorn.

"I can try."

They continued their walk. Elrond pointed out certain herbs that were good for healing, and every time his arm would return to his side, Aragorn's tiny hand would sneak closer and closer, until Elrond grasped it with his large, long hand.

"You hands are thick," said Aragorn after some time. "They're harder than I expected."

"Harder? Now, Estel, I believe it is you who uses words too big for me."

Aragorn squeezed Elrond's hand tighter, afraid he would let go now that he'd said something. "That...it...it didn't come out right. I meant your hands aren't soft. They don't feel like...like healer hands."

"Healer hands?" repeated Elrond, growing curious. Were all human children like this, or was Aragorn particularly strange?

"Like they could make my pain go away," blurted Aragorn, growing flustered. "Stop asking me things! I don't know!"

Elrond rubbed the palm of Aragorn's small hand with his calloused thumb. "Calm down. My intention was not to embarrass you. I just wonder what you mean."

Aragorn tried to explain with his free hand, flapping it all around. He stumbled on a tree branch, but Elrond's strong hand kept him up.

"I...like your hands. Because they're not soft." he finally mumbled.

"I may be a healer, young one, but that does not mean I cannot do other things. I have been around a long time." Elrond looked up at the canopy of trees, the sun harsh against the gentle beauty of the green leaves. He was indeed older than these trees, then this entire grove. But he was not older than the sun.

"How old are you?"

"Old beyond the reckoning of your people."

Aragorn, surprisingly enough, giggled. "You're an old man, even if you don't look like one."

Elrond wasn't sure what to say, so he lifted Aragorn into the air and whirled him around. "Could an old man do this?" he laughed.

Aragorn shrieked and laughed, and when Elrond set him back on he ground, he reached for Elrond's hand and firmly grasped it in his own.

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Reviews are love! :)


	4. Old Age Part One

Disclaimer- I don't own LOTR.

OMG DID YOU GUYS SEE THE NEW HOBBIT TRAILER? ELROND WAS THERE AND GOLD AND BILBO AND OMGOSHTHSRH

Ahem.

Enjoy! :)

* * *

Bilbo yawned as he tottered out into the main hall. Breakfast was being served, and an elf, Linder, had woken him so he didn't miss it. He was in a constant debate with himself- whether he should sleep until noon and miss a meal or wake up and enjoy it fully.

Breakfast was rich and full, and when Bilbo had had his (and the two Elves' next to him) fill, he noticed that Elrond wasn't at the table.

"Where's Master Elrond?" he asked as he took one last bite of pasty.

It was Erestor, who ate as carefully as he spoke, and was always one of the last elves to finish eating, who replied. "He refused to come down for the meal. He wouldn't even come out."

"I wonder, does he often get like this?"

Erestor smiled slightly. "No, not often. But when he does get in a mood, it's difficult to get him out of it. He's quite stubborn. It comes with age, I suppose."

Bilbo clapped his hands together. "Why don't you let me give him a try? I've heard that I'm quite stubborn also. Not as stubborn as a Dwarf, perhaps, but then, who is?"

"Well said," said Erestor, his smile widening. "But I think you shall have trouble dealing with Elrond. Even Arwen could not calm him now."

Bilbo decided to take this as a challenge, and quickly made his way to Elrond's private rooms, where he hesitated. Was it really appropriate for him to do this? Elrond might get angry, and even a stout hobbit like Bilbo feared a furious

Elf-lord.

Bilbo discarded his worries. Elrond had been kind to him, and Bilbo could only try to reward him best he could.

He knocked on Elrond's bedroom door, heart in throat. What would he do if he opened it? What if he didn't?

"Go away!" roared an uncharacteristically upset voice. "Glorfindel, I'm warning you, I _am_ armed!" There was a crashing sound, and an elvish swear.

"That's alarming." squeaked Bilbo.

Elrond swore again, and Bilbo didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The door opened a crack, and Bilbo caught glimpse of a long Elvish sword dangling from one slender hand.

"Ah, Bilbo," said Elrond, torn between annoyance and embarrassment. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt too much for you to come in, as long as you promise not to breathe a word of this to anyone."

"I promise on the lives on my parents, Belladonna and Bungo Baggins, my great-great-great granduncle, Bullroarer, and of course, the wonderful Old-"

Elrond roughly grabbed Bilbo by the tunic and pulled him in, shutting the door. BIlbo barely got a glimpse of Elrond's haggard face before Elrond had jumped back into the middle of his room, swinging his sword wildly.

BIlbo stood there and stared. Furniture, the most beautiful and expensively engraved Elvish furniture he'd ever seen (with one broken vase on the floor), was haphazardly pushed against the walls, to make room for Elrond's sword "practice." His long, dark hair was tangled and messy as he whirled around in fits of madness.

"I hope you excuse me for asking, Master Elrond," said Bilbo cautiously. "But what exactly are you doing?"

Elrond stopped his swordplay momentarily, his wide chest heaving with effort. Bilbo wondered how long he'd been at this.

"I'm fighting," wheezed Elrond. "Cant you tell?"

"Of course!" replied Bilbo hastily. "Of course I could tell! How silly of me, I wasn't thinking!"

"Well?" asked Elrond expectantly. "What do you think?"

"Huh?"

Elrond's eyes were wide, and Bilbo couldn't see the wise, kind healer, only an insane Elf with a love for hitting things.

"Do I still have my touch? Am I still a good fighter?"

"The very best, Master Elrond," promised Bilbo, secretly wondering how on Earth Elrond managed to survive all those battles if he fought like _that._ "No one could match your skill."

Sweet Elbereth, this was _crazy_.

Elrond collapsed into a chair, only to fall over, as if was currently stacked onto another one. He sighed, stood up, and strode over to the full length mirror, the only furniture not uprooted from its rightful place. He was relatively calm.

"Oh, my friend," said Elrond sadly. "I found a hair."

"A...hair?" repeated Bilbo. He went and sat on Elrond's bed, partially because he felt like he needed a seat, and partially so he could tell Frodo he'd been in Elrond's bed.

"A facial hair! I found a facial hair!" he said mournfully. "Do you know what that means, Bilbo?"

Bilbo shook his head, stumped. Hobbits didn't get facial hair, so he had no idea what was going on.

"You don't know what this means, do you, Bilbo? It means..." Elrond appeared as though he was forcing the words out. "It means...I'm old."

Bilbo stared at Elrond, uncomprehending. He'd never realized this _before?_ Nowhere, in almost seven thousand years of living, had Elrond considered that he was older than almost _any_ Elf?

Elrond covered his face with his hands. "Don't look at me like that, Bilbo. I know I'm old. For Mando's sake, I'm considered _the_ lore-master, and you don't get that title without experiencing a thing or two having to do with lore. But this...this means...I'm entering my third cycle. I'm officially classified, by my own records, as an ancient being." He started pacing in wide circles, and nearly stumbled over Bilbo. Bilbo, having spent some time in Rivendell by now, was quite used to it.

"Cycle...is that like...what the ladies go through?" asked Bilbo, thoroughly confused.

Elrond gave him a scathing look, one that he deserved. Even Bilbo knew better than to be that dumb.

"Sorry," apologized Bilbo. "It's obviously not. So...what did you do when you found the hair?"

Elrond shuddered. "I plucked it immediantly. Heaven knows I don't want all of Rivendell knowing that I'm...old."

"I'm pretty certain they already know." offered Bilbo helpfully.

"My dear, simple hobbit," replied Elrond, kneading his hands together nervously. "It isn't only age that send an Elf into their third cycle. It's their _mindset_. When an Elf is old enough to know much of what happens around them, and to predict what _will_ happen, and accepts this fate because they know the tides will change, they are in their second cycle. But for their third cycle...they must be ancient beyond belief, past the idea that anything will have a lasting effect on them."

"Isn't that good?"

Elrond moaned in misery. "What it means is that I'm a stuffy old fart who spends so much time thinking that I can't enjoy life properly."

Bilbo stood up and crossed his arms, bouncing slightly off the bed. "That's not true! You spend as much time in the Hall of Fire as I do."

"Ah, Bilbo, when was the last time you actually heard me _sing_ a song?"

Bilbo thought about it, and realized he'd never heard Elrond sing a song. "You _can_ sing, right?"

"Of course I can sing!" protested Elrond. "I'm an Elf, aren't I?"

Bilbo shrugged. "You could've been born with human singing genes, and therefore be mediocre in comparison to other Elves."

Elrond was insulted, and BIlbo hoped he wouldn't get scolded, kicked out of Rivendell, and be forced back to the Shire.

"How dare you! I'm a perfectly good singer, I promise you."

"Then prove it. Next feast, sing a song in the Hall of Fire, in front of all the Elves."

Elrond's face paled a bit. "It's been nearly a thousand years since-"

"You're an Elf, right?" challenged BIlbo. "And they're _your_ people! If they don't like your music, tell them to get out!"

Elrond stroked his chin, and as Bilbo watched, ran his fingers over a certain spot on it. His gray eyes narrowed momentarily.

"Challenge accepted," said Elrond. "As long as it keeps a beard away, I'll do it."

Bilbo smirked. Who would've guessed that he of all people, would get Lord Elrond to agree to sing a song?

"One more thing," said Bilbo. "This third cycle thing, it has to do with wisdom?"

"Yes," nodded Elrond, looking slightly calmer. "The wiser you are, the more likely it may pounce on you."

"So...I'm just curious. Why do you grow a beard?"

Elrond was unnerved, and after a moment on avoiding the question, finally mumbled, "I dunno."

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Part one of two!

Man, I _wish_ Hugo Weaving was incapable of growing a beard...

Reviews are love!


	5. Old Age Part Two

Disclaimer- I don't own LOTR.

Part Two!

Enjoy! :)

* * *

The flames in the Hall of Fire crackled spectacularly high, but Bilbo barely jumped at it. His mind wasn't on the flames, but the master of them (and no, he didn't mean Gandalf). He was watching Elrond, who was sitting silently in his chair in front of the fire. He had been silent the entirety of dinner and through the songs, and Bilbo (and many of the Elves) was worried.

Bilbo wondered if he had messed up somehow. Earlier that morning he'd demanded that Elrond sing a song in the Hall of Fire to get over his depression after finding a facial hair, and Elrond had agreed, calling, at that very instant, for a full feast and lovely party that night. Bilbo hadn't heard him speak a word since, and was beginning to worry he'd seriously offended the Elf-lord.

The Elves started dancing and tried to pull Bilbo in, but he resisted. How long had it been since he'd seen the Elves this merry? Years, it seemed. Before the ring began to trouble Elrond's councils.

Bilbo was beginning to nod off despite his fear, being curled up in his chair as he was, when Elrond abruptly stood. The Elves halted their song, and waited for their Lord's command, although Bilbo spied humor in Lady Arwen's eyes.

The fire cast a shadow on Elrond as he turned to face them. There was a thin outline of deep orange around Elrond's body as he stood in front of the flames. His gray eyes were blazing, and his dark hair was haloed with gold. Bilbo's breath was halted in his chest as he gazed at Elrond, and knew that he was looking upon a last remnant of the First Age, of a line greater and more terrible than could be imagined.

Elrond lifted one hand, and the Elves playing instruments nodded, the only ones present who knew what Elrond was doing. The tunes they started playing was slow and sweet, readily gaining speed. BIlbo felt like he should know it, like it was a part of a long-forgotten dream that he'd only just recalled.

When Elrond opened his mouth, Bilbo realized that he was going to sing. All this, because of Bilbo's insistence? BIlbo felt both deeply honored and vastly uncomfortable. To think, he'd attempted to command such a great force as this Elf-lord!

Elrond's voice was different than Bilbo imagined. It was not like that of other Elves, whose voices were light and merry save only for the darkest songs. Elrond's voice rang of Men, a gravelly rasp coming from deep in his throat. It was rough and raw, but enchanting, and the most Mannish feature in the Half-elven Lord of Imladris that Bilbo had seen. There was something else, something mystic, that wove itself into the strands of the song, that Bilbo could not identify. Uplifting but ancient, it reminded him of Gandalf.

Then Bilbo figured out what Elrond was singing, and his embarrassment was great enough to make him completely forget about Elrond's voice.

"_Eärendil was a mariner_

_that tarried in Arvernien;_

_he built a boat of timber felled_

_in Nimbrethil to journey in;_

_her sails were her lanterns made,_

_her prow was fashioned like a swan,_

_and light upon her banners laid."_

Sweet Elbereth, that was _his_ song! He'd sung that only recently, when Frodo had been through with Bilbo's ring. The Dúnadan had insisted on that stone, and called him cheeky. He'd been right, then, to do so! Bilbo wasn't sure he'd ever be able to face _any_ Elf ever again, not after Elrond himself had sung his silly song about Elrond's _parents_. Oh why oh why did he have to be so _dense_?

A minstrel, Lindir, looked Bilbo's way, barely suppressing a smile. Bilbo wanted to sink into his chair and never come out.

"_Beneath the Moon and under star_

_he wandered far from northern strands._

_bewildered on enchanted ways..."_

Bilbo was barely able to sit in his chair for the entirety of his own song, and attempted to sneak out as all the Elves clambered around Elrond, who had sat back down in his chair, graceful and serene, not a Man but an Elf once more.

Lindir tapped Bilbo on the shoulder as he tried to leave. Bilbo started in surprise, and Lindir laughed.

"Ne need to feel bad, Bilbo," said Lindir cheerily. "It's quite an honor to have Elrond Peredhil sing your song. I don't think he's sung here in five hundred years."

"He said it was a thousand this morning..." said Bilbo, slightly sullenly.

Lindir's mirth couldn't be contained. "He exaggerates. To one of his age, maybe it seems that long. As for myself, I doubt I could go a week without singing. It is in my nature."

"That is why you're a minstrel and he's a Lord," replied Bilbo, smiling slightly. "Although, perhaps, you are the lord of minstrels."

Lindir bowed slightly. "That is very kind of you, lord of mortals."

"No, not even lord of hobbits!" cried Bilbo. "You overestimate me."

Lindir pulled him gently back into the Hall of FIre. "It is to make up for _under-_estimating you, long ago. Now stay! And do not be ashamed, for Elrond would not sing a song he does not deem worthy."

He was pushed towards Elrond, who was talking to a tall, noble Elf Bilbo recognized as Erestor, head of Elrond's council.

"Yes, Erestor," replied Elrond, a touch of impatience in his voice as he responded to a question Bilbo hadn't heard. "I'm aware of the song I sang. If you're so curious, then ask Bilbo here."

Erestor noticed Bilbo for the first time. "_You_ wrote this?"

Bilbo shrugged modestly. "All in a day's work."

Before Erestor could begin questioning Bilbo about every line in the song, and how he knew these tales, and whether or not it was fully accurate, Elrond shooed him away.

"It is awing to think that your family is so ancient, lore must be put down so that it does not become pure myth."

Elrond winced. "I sang this song to forget my age, didn't I?"

Bilbo made a face. "Sorry. I forgot. If it makes you feel better, you were...oh, how do I describe it? Astounding."

"So I keep hearing. Yet I would take their praise more gladly if I wasn't their Lord. I have no illusions about how I sound. I know my voice is too low, and I am always off-pitch. You were right, dear Bilbo, when you said that I take after Men in this respect. For Men are more often bad singers than Elves."

When Bilbo heard this, he plopped down in the chair next to Elrond (reserved for Glorfindel, who made a beeline in the opposite direction) and proceeded to berate Elrond for his ridiculous low self-esteem, Bilbo treating Elrond like a silly hobbit-child. In no time at all, Elrond felt very young indeed.

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	6. Life of Old

Disclaimer0 I don't own Lord of the Rings.

Sorry for the long absence! This has some Simarillion references, because...I dunno, I like Maedhros.

Enjoy! :)

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Bilbo was frustrated. He was trying to collect information for a poem or a chapter on the seven sons of Fëanor, and had been doing a pretty good job of it until he'd reached Maedhros and Maglor. Every single Elf he'd approached on the subject had looked startled and alarmed, and, the amount of diplomacy depending on the grace of the particular Elf, directed him to Elrond.

It made sense, he supposed, considering Elrond's age, but he didn't like bothering the Lord of Imladris about things as trivial as his stories. Nonetheless, he found himself searching the rooms of Rivendell, and finally found Elrond curled up on a love-seat, watching summer rain splatter against the window. The Lord was so quiet, his shadow so forlorn, that Bilbo started to walk back out without saying anything.

"Little master," said Elrond softly. "You need not fear my presence." He didn't turn to look at Bilbo, keeping his back to him. His robes fell all around him, and Bilbo guiltily thought he looked rather like Arwen.

"I didn't think it was the time to bother you." he managed.

"You're not a bother," Elrond's words were kind, but his mind was far way from Bilbo, from Rivendell even. He was thinking about something long ago, a time before the Shire was even settled. "I heard you've been doing some research."

"A little," admitted Bilbo. "On the sons of Fëanor. If, um, that's acceptable to you, my Lord."

"Don't call me that," Elrond's tone momentarily lost its softness, and BIlbo winced. "You don't need to address me so formally." he added, the sharp edge gone.

"What did you want to know?" He sounded less tired and more curious, so Bilbo decided, why not?

"What do you know about...Maedhros and Maglor?" ventured Bilbo.

Elrond reached out a long finger and ran his finger down the window-pane, leaving a trail behind him. He breathed over it, and thought a long time before answering. Just as Bilbo was about to give up, he turned to Bilbo and smiled sadly. "He liked to touch."

"W-What?" asked Bilbo, startled.

"Maedhros. He liked to touch, especially with his left hand. He would grasp your hand, or lay it on your shoulder. I've never seen an Elf hold hands so much, even with Maglor. _Especially_ with Maglor."

"I didn't know," mumbled Bilbo. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Did know what? I thought you wanted to know about them."

"I-I mean, that sounds personal, I didn't know you knew them that well."

Elrond turned to look at him for the first time, and Bilbo couldn't tear himself away from the deep gray eyes long enough to jot down notes. "I'm one of the last who did."

When Bilbo didn't say anything, Elrond continued. Again, Bilbo felt like Elrond wasn't really there. He was with Maedhros and Maglor, in a time and place long ago.

Elrond smiled, and this time he actually looked like he meant it. "Maglor was short."

Again, Bilbo wasn't sure what to say. How was one supposed to reply to that?

"It was fairly amusing. Maedhros wasn't Maedhros the Tall for nothing, after all. He towered over nearly everyone we met, but none more so than his brother. Maglor hated it. I think maybe it's what planted that first seed of dissension, so long ago. That's what Elros used to say," laughed Elrond, forgetting himself. He blinked in surprise of his own talkativeness. "I must be getting senile."

Bilbo cocked his head. "Senile?"

"Yes, like a Man. You may have heard I have a little in me," teased Elrond. "What with the title Elrond Half-elven and all that."

Bilbo blushed. "Only Rivendell can make one feel both embarrassed and pleased on a constant basis."

"Funny, Gil-Galad once told me that same thing," chuckled Elrond, winking. "Of course, it was on a much _different_ subject..."

He abruptly stood and left, long robes fluttering as he walked out, leaving poor Bilbo with more questions than answers.

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	7. Snorting Dorwinion

Disclaimer- I don't own it...and yeah.

So, it's been forever. For the couple of people who may care, I'm uploading something that I don't really like until I finish the one that I'm fairly fond of. Yup. If that made sense.

Enjoy! :)

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Yawning, Bilbo scratched his head and he ambled into the room where breakfast was served. There had been a great feast the night before, with Elves falling over each other drunk, laughing and singing merrily. Even Elrond had partaken in a drinking contest with Glorfindel and a couple visiting Dwarves. Elrond, with his usual dignity, had one the contest and returned to his seat in victory.

Bilbo wasn't sure what to expect when he walked into the serving room, but it wasn't for the long table to be almost completely empty, save a lone figure at the far end.

"Ah, dear Mr. Baggins," said the figure. Bilbo approached and realized that it was Elrond, appearing completely refreshed. "I hope that you are well-rested?"

Bilbo's mouth opened and closed before he finally said, flabbergasted, "Where is everyone?"

Elrond chuckled. "Most of them are in bed. The unluckier members of my household are scattered in the roomier passages of the house. That is, except Glorfindel..." Elrond looked down at this and smirked. "...Who is currently lying at my feet, fast asleep."

Bilbo started to take a seat about halfway down the table, but Elrond beckoned to him.

"There's no one else here. I would prefer you to sit were I could talk to you."

Bilbo grinned when he saw there was a plate already laid out for him on Elrond's right. As a hobbit should, he dug right in.

"This is great," he said through a full mouth. "But different. Who made it?"

Elrond smiled. "I did."

Bilbo's eyes widened. He was eating food cooked by the legendary Lord of Imladris? It was enough that Bilbo stayed in this house of legend, but now he was eating his _cooking?_

"Don't look so shocked, Master Bilbo. The cooks are drunk too. It was either cook or not eat, and I find my appetite protests against fasting."

"I concur," said Bilbo through a mouthful of food. "You're a fantastic cook."

"How kind of you. Gandalf tells me that you're not so bad yourself."

"I'm surprised you aren't...similarly incapacitated." admitted Bilbo.

"I have a higher tolerance than most. I have been around longer, after all."

"...Ah."

"I'm surprised you didn't partake."

"It's amusing to be the only sober one in a room," chortled Bilbo. "Drunk Elves are the funniest. You should have seen Thranduil's palace when they got the Dorwinion wine in-or perhaps it would be undiplomatic of me to speak of such things."

There was a spark in Elrond's eye as he replied, "On no you don't, Master Baggins. You're not holding out on me. I'd love to hear what Thranduil and his people do behind closed doors."

"Well, they decided to see what could snort the wine out of both nostrils, and let's just say the results were most amusing..."

"Oh? And did Thranduil partake in this?"

"Of course! In fact, he was the instigator."

Elrond grinned. "I finally have something to hold over that pain in the ass! He can't lord the fishing incident over me any more!"

"Do tell!"

"No, no, too embarrassing..."

"Hey," pouted Bilbo. "This is a mutually beneficial relationship. I tell you, you tell me, got it?"

"Yes, Master," chuckled Elrond. "Well, it was nigh on two thousand years ago..."

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	8. Spectacles

Disclaimer- I don't own it.

It's so short...D:

Enjoy! :)

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Bilbo had just settled himself down with a good book and was preparing to read when he noticed that the seat next to him was occupied-by none other than Lord Elrond!

Elrond noticed his gaze and smiled. "My dear Bilbo, we have to stop running into each other like this."

Bilbo was halfway through a nod before he stopped abruptly. "If you don't mind me asking, what's on your face?"

Elrond's hand rose to his face to touch the two pieces of glass balanced on the bridge of his nose, and he turned beet red. "Oh, I'm afraid you've discovered my little secret."

Bilbo hadn't meant to! "Um...secret?"

Elrond carefully took off the glass and folded the wire connecting them, closing his book. "You see...I'm afraid I have a bit of trouble seeing as well as I used to. Just up close- I'm still quite fine over long distances."

"But don't Elves...well, stay the same?"

"I'm not entirely an Elf, little master," replied Elrond, smiling. "And I'm afraid that six thousand years can wear down any eyes."

Bilbo had one last question. "Where did you get those...those..."

"Glasses?" prompted Elrond. "The Dwarves make them. Glorfindel occasionally makes trips to the Blue Mountains and retrieves them for me."

Bilbo scratched him head. "That's...nice."

"Ah! I've interrupted your reading. I'm sorry, Master Bilbo," said Elrond, gently changing the subject. "May I ask what you're reading?"

Bilbo tilted the book at him. Elrond raised his eyebrows pointedly and retrieved his glasses from his robe, slipping them on.

Elrond laughed, and the sound was as a waterfall trickling down the rocks. "One hundred Useful Dwarvish Inventions. Sounds like a good read."

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	9. Tough Armor

Disclaimer- I don't own it.

Hey! :) I wrote this on my Nook, which doesn't have spellcheck, so be warned! I think I corrected most of the, but you never know...

Enjoy! :)

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Bilbo decided to liven things up for himself by watching the Elves practice their swordplay. He hadn't picked up Sting in many years, but he'd suddenly felt the urge to see swords glimmer in combat again.

He had picked a good day to come. Lord Elrond and Glorfindel were putting on a demonstration for some younger Elves, and Bilbo was treated to watching the two legendary warriors pit themselves against each other.

Elrond, it seemed, was the underdog. Yes, the Elves acknowledged that Elrond had at one time been a prime fighter, but now? He'd spent too long with books, said the young Elves, and had lost his touch.

Glorfindel was the favorite to win. With his long blonde hair and thick muscles, he dwarfed Elrond in all but height. He had been defending Imladris' borders for centuries, and it was hard to imagine that he would go down.

Bilbo wished that Elves were a betting folk, because he was willing to bet his mithril vest that Elrond was going to win this match.

The two Elves took the training field, standing on opposite sides. Elrond was using the ancient sword Hadhafang, which the young Elves said proved that Elrond was out of touch. What a surprise.

These Elves shut up, however, when the warriors took their position. It was obvious from their stance that Elrond was at least Glorfindel's equal.  
Glorfindel was shirtless, and there were three or four female Elves there purely there for the view. Elrond was in a long sleeve leather jerkin that another group of ladies had gathered to watch as it clung to the older Elf's body.

Bilbo watched as the Elves met in a clash of swords, Glorfindel's lips curved in a grim smile, Elrond's face deadly serious.

The crowd was silent as the two Elves continued the dance of swords. Glorfindel nicked Elrond in the shoulder, ripping the jerking open slightly. Several ladies gasped, not with shock, but pleasure.

Bilbo shook his head. Some things never changed, regardless of species.

Elrond got Glorfindel back a few seconds later, cutting into his left thigh. Bilbo noticed that he flicked his wrist at the last moment to prevent his blade from cutting deeper.

The fight ended when Elrond slipped behind Glorfindel with speed that confounded Bilbo and pressing Hadhafang against Glorfindel's neck, kneeing him in the back in bring him down to the ground.

Glorfindel yelled, "I yield!"

It turned out that Elves DID bet, because Bilbo saw several pouches of gold slipping into a few Elves' pockets. Erestor, the head of Elrond's council, was gleefully collecting gold left and right, having the advantage of having seen Elrond in battle.

Glorfindel and Elrond, panting hard, came Bilbo's way, talking and laughing.

"You had me going, Glori," said Elrond, wiping his brow. "It's never easy to beat you."

"But beat me you do. I swear that First Age blood of yours runs strong."

"If your First Age blood still ran, I doubt I could match the Balrog-slayer."

Glorfindel shoved Elrond playfully, who shoved back. They both winced.

"I've got some bruises to remember," grumbled Elrond good-naturedly. "That was a good move, knocking my legs out from under me. My thighs will be sore for weeks."

"Like they were when you _clashed swords _with Ereinion, hmmm?" chuckled Glorfindel, winking.

Bilbo did not understand the wink.

Elrond eased down on the grass next to Bilbo. "Was it a good show, Master Hobbit?"

"Amazing," replied Bilbo, bobbing his head up and down, over and over. "It was fantastic to watch!"

"Don't flatter us too much," grinned Glorfindel, slinging his arm around Elrond's shoulder. "We don't need Elrond's self esteem to inflate anymore..."

Elrond laughed and focused on Bilbo. "He's just bitter."

Bilbo chewed his lip. "Pardon me for asking, Lord Elrond, but would you mind telling me why you always wear long sleeves?"

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows. "That's sudden."

Elrond, to his surprise, blushed slightly. "I suppose I'm vain."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows back. "Elves. You know as well as I do that that's not a proper explanation."

Glorfindel squeezed Elrond's shoulder. "C'mon, loremaster, tell a story."

Elrond rolled his eyes as Glorfindel and turned back to Bilbo. "An old warrior has old wounds," he said, grimacing at the corny line.

Elrond unlaced the right sleeve of the leather jerkin, finding it difficult to shimmy it up his arm because of its tightness and how much Elrond had sweated.

Bilbo tried not to stare at Elrond's arm, but he couldn't help it. Below his elbow there was a piece of gold metal two inches thick and one inch wide imbedded in Elrond's skin. It was surrounded by a thick layer of pink scar tissue.

"How did that...I didn't even know that was possible!"

Elrond laughed. It's a bit of my armor, forever with me to remind me of my fighting days."

Glorfindel nudged Elrond with his face. "Ah, c'mon, you're not going to tell the story of how you got it? The three year siege of Imladris, except it wasn't Imladris then, and how you ran out of food and ate rats and leather for six months?"

"You just did," smirked Elrond. "Thanks for saving me the trouble."

Bilbo's eyes were wide with wonder. "Is that true?"

Elrond covered his face with his hands. "Oh no. This story is so embarrassing."

"Why, because it makes you looked good?" said Glorfindel, chuckling. "Bilbo, back in the day this old fart used to command one of Middle-earth's largest armies."

Elrond decided it would be a wise choice to bury his face in the grass.

Bilbo surprised himself by saying, "Why don't you compromise? Tell me how you got that piece of metal stuck in your arm and you don't have to talk about anything else."

Elrond poked his head up slightly. "Sounds good to me."

He sat up and stuck his arm back out, giving Bilbo another glimpse at his scarred arm.

"I was fighting one of the last battles of the siege when an enemy with a mace-it was a popular weapon of orcs-caught me in the sword arm. I had no choice but to keep fighting, of course, so my arm didn't get medical attention for several hours..."

Glorfindel winced. "That was my first Rivendell battle, actually. I had just arrived in Middle-earth, and that was the battle that convinced me to serve under Lord Elrond."

Elrond stuck out his tongue. "I don't see why. When the battle was finally over, my armor had attached to the blood and tissue underneath. We had to cut most of it off. You won't believe it, my mortal hobbit, but over the last three thousand or so years the scars have mostly faded. Only that thick one and the plate of armor we just couldn't extract are left."

Bilbo tried not to imagine what it would look like to rip a piece of metal from your arm. He failed, finding himself shuddering. Dark thoughts invaded his mind, and he began daydreaming about ancient battles and heroic deeds until thoughts of dinner interrupted them.

Elrond reached over and grasped Bilbo's shoulder, his hand damp from sweat. "I didn't mean to scare you, my dear hobbit. If it comforts you, I promise that it was far more terrifying to behold."

Glorfindel sighed. "Did you comfort the twins and Arwen this way, Elrond? You're lousy at it."

Elrond, if he weren't quite so dignified, may have stuck out his tongue at the offending Elf. Instead he just huffed and stood up shakily.

"Glory, Bilbo, I'm afraid I'm off to take a bath. I've had enough abuse for one day."

Bilbo barely emerged from his reverie in time to yell, in a slightly squeaky hobbit voice, "Thank you, Lord Elrond!"

Elrond waved back, stumbling on the grass. Glorfindel got up then, mumbling something about making sure Elrond didn't pass out on the way to the baths. He looked ready to drop himself.

Bilbo shook his head.

Elves.

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	10. Fading

Disclaimer- I don't own LOTr.

I had a super hard time finding inspiration. Enjoy! :)

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"Rivendell is fading, Bilbo," said Elrond, plucking a brown leaf of the tree leaning close to him. They were on the balcony, Elrond leaning over it while Bilbo peered between the curved bars. "Rivendell is fading, and I am fading with it."

Bilbo pressed his face against the warm carved bar. It still felt alive beneath his cheek. "If you leave Rivendell, Master Elrond, Rivendell will never be the same."

"No," agreed Elrond. "It won't."

Silence reigned, and Bilbo felt age tug at him, tug at his mind and his body. He sagged against the railing as his legs protested against moving so much. He had never before felt so old.

"I am almost older than the Old Took," he mumbled sleepily. Elrond bent down and helped the small hobbit to his feet. When Bilbo showed no signs of walking by himself, Elrond picked the old hobbit up and positioned him on his shoulders. Bilbo rested his chin on top of Elrond's head, watching the world from a high viewpoint.

"Let us have one last walk around this old place," murmured Elrond. "One last walk for two sets of old bones."

Keeping a firm grip on the old hobbit, the ancient Elf explored Rivendell, his refuge and home for over four thousand years, in a way he hadn't explored it in millennia. He pointed out the trees and the hidden groves where young Elves spent secluded moments _enjoying the nature together_, although when Elrond told Bilbo that in his quiet voice he didn't make it sound like an innuendo.

Elrond eventually kicked off his boots when they reached an especially beautiful grove of trees and sang like an Elf should, without restraint. Bilbo was lulled into sleep by elrond's baritone voice. The last things he saw was a ring of green trees and the back of a black head with gray strands woven in it.

He woke up, as he had for twenty years, to the sound of waterfalls.

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	11. Hospitality

Disclaimer- I don't own LOTR.

Enjoy! :)

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"Elrond."

The voice that said this was rough, angry, and most definitely not respectable.

Elrond blinked heavily. He had been reading in his private rooms for several hours now, delighted to find himself without anything to do for once in his long life. Protecting Imladris' borders with by himself was not as easy a feat as the other Rivendell Elves presumed, although Elrond wouldn't have it any other way. But, all in all, millennia of the strain was beginning to wear him down. He tried to ignore the nagging thought that he may be getting to old for Middle-earth. Galadriel often complained of that feeling.

He stood up and went to his door, but he did not open it. "Who is it?" he called through the door.

He rested his cheek against the cool wood. How many times had that wood been replaced while he had lived in these rooms? Dozens, because wood, no matter how much the Eldar tried to preserve it, always rotted.

"Thorin Oakenshield," came the gruff reply.

Elrond sighed. These dwarves. Thirteen of them too, running around Rivendell being irritating. You'd think if they hated Elves so much they get out of his hair and leave.

He threw on a slightly more stately robe before opening the door. When he saw the Dwarf's scowl he put on his best diplomatic smile and bowed slightly. "What can I do for you, my lord?"

Thorin stroked his gray beard. Elrond noticed that Bofur and Balin were trailing along. "I was hoping for an audience, Elrond."

Elrond forced a smile and tried to stop himself from snapping, "_Lord_ Elrond." He managed to contain himself, barely.

"And what would you have an audience for?" he said, "Surely it could have waited until the morning."

Bofur blushed, but the Dwarves, as all Dwarves are, were stubborn. Thorin thrust his chin upwards.

"We just wanted to ask something," said Bofur, flashing a winning smile. "So hear us out, please!"

"I never had any intention of behaving otherwise," lied Elrond. "I would prefer not to go down to my council chamber at this hour. Would you mind stepping in?"

The Dwarves, contrary to his words, all simultaneously took a step back. Balin whispered to Thorin, "This is exactly the problem, my lord!"

Elrond stepped aside and the three Dwarves cautiously stepped in. Bofur's mouth dropped open.

"Everything in here is so...old!" he said ever-so-tactfully.

Elrond appraissed the room as objectively as he could. "Really? I had most of the furniture replaced about half a millennia ago, except that nice table Elros carved for me, and that awful dresser Galadriel forced on me when I married her daughter."

He looked down at the Dwarves, who he was amused to see were huddled together in awe of Elrond's room. He would admit freely that it was richly decorated, with a huge bed that had been built right before Celebrían had been captured and furniture from all over Middle-earth, from the Blue Mountains to the Lake of Rhûn. It startled him to realize that no one had seen the inside of his room in over two hundred years- he usually spent time with his children outside or in their rooms, and there was no one else he ever needed to talk to in there.

Elrond sat on the edge of his bed, suddenly aware of his flimsy dressing gown. He looked down to make sure there were no unseemly bits showing. He was pleased with the results (for the most part-he wasn't comfortable with how tight it was across his chest).

"What is it you wanted to ask me about?" he asked warily.

The Dwarves all shuffled about until Thorin finally growled, "Why are you being so nice to us?"

Elrond was genuinely surprised. "I am the Lord of Imladris, and as such, it is my duty to accept all guests."

Thorin crossed his arms. "But you're an Elf! We're Dwarves!"

"I'm aware of your species, Lord Thorin," replied Elrond dryly, smiling a little.

Thorin said, rather gruffly, "You need to stop being kind to us."

"Why?"

"Because it's hard to hate you!" cried Bofur, distraught.

Elrond was momentarily speechless. "I'm sorry, what?"

Thorin nodded gruffly. Everything he did seemed to be gruff. "Exactly right. We have Elves, you see. But we can't seem to hate you, even if you do dress better than us."

"I've had more time to practice," said Elrond politely, wondering what in the name of Elbereth was going on.

"See! A normal Elf would say 'oh yes, I do, because _I _haven't spent _my_ time wandering around the dirty wilderness', but you just make excuses and apologies for being superior!"

"In dressing only," added Balin emphatically. "Superior in clothing _only_."

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, my good guests," said Elrond, trying not to betray the smile he was hiding, "I'm afraid I can't be any less courteous than I am now, It's in my very nature."

Bofur stomped his foot. "Try!"

"I'm sorry, but I simply doubt in my ability to change myself so. I'm sure you Dwarves are far better at it when you put your minds to it, but simply _cannot _wrap my mind around this idea of changing my methods of hospitality. I really _am_ sorry," said Elrond gravely.

Balin roared, "Stop complimenting us!" and ran from the room, Bofur on his heels.

Thorin and Elrond stared at each other.

"Well," said Thorin.

"Yes, my dear guest?"

"By Durin's beard, I hate liking Elves!" yelled Thorin, and he marched out.

Elrond shook his head and went back to his book. Dwarves.

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	12. Surgery Hands

Disclaimer- I don't own it.

I'm avtually wrapping this up, and this is the seconds to last chapter. I hope it's good!

Enjoy! :)

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Elrond collapsed in one of his favorite chairs in the Hall of Fire, closing his eyes for a long moment. He was exhausted, having just spent three days nursing the extremely injured Frodo back to health. In the end he'd had to open the wound up and dig the splinter out, and he was never quite comfortable when operating. No one else in Arda, however, had any idea how to perform surgery, so it wasn't like he had much of a choice.

He was handed a steaming mug and he opened his eyes to see who it was. He was surprised to see Bilbo smiling up at him. He wearily smiled back and sipped from the mug. He wish he had the energy to swear when it burned his tongue.

"How did you know I love cider?" he said. It sounded lackluster even to him.

Bilbo shrugged. "I asked."

Bilbo sat across from him, resting his face in his hands, his knees drawn to his chest. He looked like a tiny ball of wrinkles, and Elrond chuckled before taking another sip of his cider.

"Is Frodo...is he going to be okay?"

Elrond nodded slowly. "I believe so. I removed a splinter from his shoulder today." Or last night. Or whenever it had been.

Bilbo's face broke out into a huge grin. "Oh, thank you, Master Elrond. I don't know what I would have done if Frodo had died, all because of my silly little Ring."

Elrond supressed a shudder. "Please...don't talk about that Ring." He still hated to think of when he had been forced to put the Ring on a new chain when the old one had broken. Even the few seconds of contact had been brutally tempting, the Ring sensing his power and taunting him with visions of the things he wanted most- peace, to stay in Rivendell forever, Celebrían, Arwen, Ereinion...when Ereinion's face had flashed before him he had shoved that damned Ring into the new chain and fastened it around Frodo's neck with shaking fingers. It had taken a reminder of the slopes of Orodriun before he could think clearly again.

Bilbo chewed at his lip. "I'm sorry, Master Elrond. I didn't mean to upset you."

"No, Bilbo, it is not your failt. It has been a long day, that is all."

Bilbo met his eyes, and Elrond was surprised by the wisedom in them. "You know, if I were only a little taller, I might be tempted to hug you. For support and all."

Elrond felt an emotion he couldn't quite place. "I'm touched, Bilbo. If I were only a little shorter, I would hug you back."

They shared a smile for about ten seconds before Elrond leaned his head back onto the chair and promptly fell asleep.

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Reviews are love! :)


	13. The Grey Havens

Disclaimer- I don't own it.

So, this is the last chapter! It was a bit sadder than I expected, but Elrond has had a long life, and I guess that comes with sadness.

I hope you enjoy! :)

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It took Bilbo a long time to clear the fog from his mind, but when he finally did, he found himself enjoying a warm breeze on a ship's deck. He still felt old, unbelievably so, but he could think more clearly now.

"So the water has begun its restorative effects, has it?"

Bilbo looked up to find Elrond leaning over the railing, his expression calm. In the past, Elrond would have said that with a light, airy tone, but now his voice was sombre.

"Are _you_ restored, Master Elrond?"

"You need not bother with the Master Elrond anymore. I am...I am no longer master of anything," said Elrond, sighing.

"Aren't you happy to be going to Valinor?"

Elrond closed his eyes briefly before turning to look down at Bilbo, his hands still clasped. Bilbo noticed that his robes were dark gray, so dark that they were black if you didn't look closely. Bilbo thoguht vaguely that Elrond was lucky that the sun wasn't blazing, or he might melt. Blazing sun made him think of the way something else blazed in the light...what was it? For the life of him, Bilbo couldn't remember.

"I am happy, yes. But I have lived in Middle-earth nearly my entire life. I have raised children and married and spent millennia tending to Imladris. It is not so easy to leave it." He twisted the ring on his hand that Bilbo only now noticed. It was gold, with a great blue stone in the middle. Bilbo wondered why he had never seen it before.

"_Nearly _your entire life? Where else could you have lived?"

For the first time, there was a ghost of a smile on his face. "In Beleriand. I spent my childhood there...if you could call it that."

When Bilbo realized how bitter Elrond's smile was, he wished he was strong enough to whack Elrond with his cane.

"Look, _Elrond, _you're going to Valinor! you're going to see your wife again! You get to spend the rest of eternity in peace! Stop moping!"

When Bilbo mentioned his wife, a quick look of apprehension crossed his face. "What if...what if Ereinion is back?" he whispered, more to himself than to Bilbo. "How can I choose?"

Elrond blinked several times in rapid succession before turning to Bilbo. "You're right, Bilbo. I should stop moping. _Valinor_...our songs sing of it, sing of its beauty and wonder. I have forever lived in the shadows of its greatness, and now I can finally see it. Are you excited, Bilbo?"

Bilbo thought about it. "Yes and no. It doesn't seem like there will be much to _do_ over there. But it sounds pretty."

"Pretty? Yes, it does sound pretty."

Bilbo looked out at the waves and smiled. "But...no matter. The waves are nice, aren't they?"

Elrond watched the waves with him for several long minutes. "Yes. Even though my...my f-" Elrond cut himself off and breathed in deeply. "Yes. They are nice."

"Now, I beleive it is mealtime. We will be missed if we don't show."

Elrond took Bilbo's hand and began to guide him towards the inside of the boat, but Bilbo stopped him.

"Elrond..."

"Yes, little master?"

"I'm glad we're friends, even after all these years."

Elrond's deep gray eyes were slgihtly less unfathomable when he smiled so wide that the lines around his eyes crinkled and he said, "Me too."

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Yep. It's been pretty difficult to not let my OTP of Elrond/Ereinion show, but I guess it had to sometime. Anyway, thank you everyone who supported and read this fanfiction! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!

Reviews are love, and goodbye! :)


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